


we could fall or we could fly

by With_the_Wolves



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alernate Universe - Unicorns, Also cool swords, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fae, And I do mean everyone lives, Fablehaven Elements, Found Family, Gen, This fic is found family as hell, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26403055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/With_the_Wolves/pseuds/With_the_Wolves
Summary: Twenty-nine years ago, a young unicorn wove a safe lie to protect and hide their baby brother in the human world.It didn't work.Or, Martin finds out that he's a unicorn and it doesn't fix anything, but he at least gets a brother and close familial bonds with the rest of the Archives staff.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Original Character(s), Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 19
Kudos: 58





	1. ghost stalker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriousGarbage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGarbage/gifts).



> It's GloriousGarbage's birthday today, and I'm celebrating by launching this weird-ass fic that she created and I dutifully wrote down. Thank you all so much for coming, I am very, very excited for all of the joy (and pain!) that this fic has to offer, and I hope you all love it as much as we do! <3

A consolation: It wasn’t the worst day Silvesse had ever had. 

Really, it wasn’t even close. Yesterday had been worse by far, what with the lung-clogging panic of returning, finally, to retrieve the baby and finding the idyllic little cottage gone, the entire neighborhood converted into towering office buildings. They’d searched for traces of the baby’s magic, but whenever the family had left, it had been so long ago that any memory of the baby had faded. So they’d tried to trace the place’s energy lines, hoping the history of the place would give some clue as to where the family had gone, but their mind wasn’t strong in that kind of magic, and in any case, the family had clearly left long before their house had been sold to the development company.

They’d spent the rest of the day trawling through old records and phone books with mounting despair, searching for any mention of Mary Clarke. They’d found a few people with the name, but none of them were right. The names tasted all wrong. They weren’t _him_.

Silvesse had thoroughly lost the baby, and the only thing they could blame that on was their own stupid decisions. As that realization had sunk into their bones, it had occurred to Silvesse for the first time that they had no way of knowing if the baby had even survived for this long. Certainly, they’d never heard of any fae infant being raised outside the cradle of Fae, certainly not without any kind of guardian. The baby might have died, all alone.

They didn’t sleep much, that night.

Running into the man with the food had been luck, pure and simple. They’d had been sat on a park bench with the dagger clutched in their hand, trying to use it to divine the baby’s whereabouts. They weren’t having much luck—the dagger had spent its formative years with Silvesse, learning to be suspicious of anyone asking questions of the _name and current residence_ variety. Silvesse thought it could give them a break, given that they’d been its bearer for most of its lifespan, but of course it could only recognize the hand of its owner. As far as it knew, Silvesse was just another stranger.

Silvesse had looked up in frustration, and not ten meters away, the man with the food was striding purposefully down the sidewalk, each hand holding a takeout bag. In hindsight, Silvesse probably should have taken time to assess the energy surrounding him, but he honestly didn’t give him more than a passing glance before standing up and chasing after him, shouting at him to slow down.

Because—clear as day—Silvesse could see that the food was intended for the baby.

“You know him?” Silvesse had asked.

And the man had nodded. “Martin? Yeah, I work with him. Why?”

“I—I need to—I need to speak with him,” Silvesse had said. “It’s important.”

And then the man noticed the dagger Silvesse was still holding, and then he had blinked and Silvesse could suddenly feel the scrutiny of his gaze, and then his eyes had gotten that fear-look to them that Silvesse thought was a _completely_ unnecessary, and then he’d taken a step back and said, “Sorry, I just realized—I got a little mixed up, earlier. I don’t think I know your Martin after all. My co-worker’s name is, uh, Mike.”

The lie had tasted bitter, but it didn’t matter. Silvesse had simply nodded and stepped away, and then followed from a safe distance, where the man wouldn’t notice him tailing.

When they’d gotten to the Magnus Institute, Silvesse’s first thought was to hope that they man would pass by it quickly. From a hundred meters away, Silvesse could already feel the evil emanating from the place, like an itch beneath his skin. It was a place antithetical to Silvesse’s nature, and they couldn’t wait to be far away.

And then.

The man had gone inside, taking the food clearly meant for Martin with him. 

So now, Silvesse was sitting across the street, staring at the Magnus Institute with narrowed eyes. Martin was trapped somewhere within the place, and Silvesse had no way to get a message to him. Silvesse had left the baby alone, and he had fallen prey to evil, and it was entirely Silvesse’s fault. Stupid.

But at least they’d found the kid! At least they knew his name now.

It started to rain, then, a heavy onslaught that came all at once and left Silvesse soaked and shivering.

A revision: This was a solid contender for the worst day Silvesse had ever had.

***

“So we told Jon you’d gone to get takeout for everyone,” Sasha said as soon as Tim returned to the Archives, “and he said not to get any for him because he’s ‘far too busy to take a break right now’. So you owe me five pounds.”

“Uh-huh,” Tim said, only half-listening as he set the takeout in question on her desk. “Where’s Martin?”

“He just went into Jon’s office. Round two of ‘convince Jon to eat lunch.’”

“Oh, good,” Tim said. “Come on, we need to have a—team meeting.”

“About Jon’s terrible self-care practices? I agree.”

In the office, Jon and Martin were in the middle of a rather heated discussion about whether Jon would be able to work more efficiently if he took a break and ate something. Tim didn’t wait for them to acknowledge their arrival. Interrupting, he said, “So I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but there is a _weird_ person outside looking for Martin.”

“Did they—give a name?” Martin asked.

“No,” Tim said. “Although I doubt you know them, considering they didn’t even know your name when they first started talking to me.”

“How do you know they were looking for me, then?”

“I don’t know!” Tim said. “I was heading back with the food, and I heard someone shouting behind me, so I stopped to see what they wanted. For a moment they just stared at the bag with this weird intensity. And I thought they were, like, a druggie, and was preparing to just shake them off and get on with it, but then they looked at me and said, ‘Do you know him?’”

“ _Do you know him?_ ” Jon echoed, his voice taking on an incredulous edge.

“I _know_ ,” Tim said. “Obviously that’s a nonsense thing to ask some stranger that you’ve just met on the street, but somehow I just-- _knew_ they were talking about Martin. So I said, ‘Yeah, Martin and I work together.’ I didn’t even realize that it was weird until I saw that they were holding a _knife_.”

“Oh my god,” Sasha said. “Are you okay? Did they threaten you?”

“No, they were just kind of casually holding it, like they’d forgotten it was even in their hand. It wasn’t like an ordinary kitchen knife, though. This was like—some kind of fantasy dagger. Like, _ornate_. And that was so weird, and then I realized that they hadn’t actually said Martin’s name, and I _really_ looked at them, and…Is it rude to say that someone doesn’t look human?”

“What, did they look like—Jane Prentiss?” Martin asked.

“No,” Tim said. 

“If they looked like Jane Prentiss, I would hope you would have led with that,” Sasha said.

“There wasn’t anything obviously _wrong_ with them, it was just— _weird_. So I backpedaled as quick as I could—honestly, pretty clumsily too. Not my best work. I said I didn’t actually know you, and I’d been mistaken. Obviously they didn’t believe me, though, because they followed me here.”

“What, so are they going to come visit us, then?” Jon asked.

Tim let out a breath. “I told Rosie not to let them down here, and to text me if they came in. Although, they did have a knife, so Rosie might not be able to stop them.”

“Should I go—see what they want?” Martin asked.

“No!” The other three said at once.

“But—Are we just going to ignore them, then? What if they need help? Or what if they try to attack someone in the Institute?”

“What if they try to attack _you_?” Sasha said.

“We should all go up,” Jon said. “If they’ve come inside, it’ll be safest to deal with it with the four of us together.”

“Right,” Tim said.

“Right,” Martin echoed.

***

The entryway was a deserted as usual.

“Rosie,” Tim began.

“No one’s come in since you got back,” Rosie said, not looking up from her computer.

“Are they still out there?” Sasha asked. “I don’t think they would follow you all the way here and then just—leave.”

The four of them clustered around the Institute’s glass doors. They were heavily tinted, so they each had to cup their hands over their eyes to see outside. The street was deserted in the rain, except for a lone figure sat on the steps across the street. Anything defining about them seemed washed out by the distance and the rain, but Tim nodded. “That’s them.”

“Why are they just sitting out there in the rain?” Sasha asked.

“Who knows,” Jon said. “Do you recognize them, Martin?”

“I don’t know,” Martin said. “They don’t look familiar? But quite a few people come through here—maybe I just don’t remember.”

As they watched, the figure reached to their side and drew out what was unmistakably an actual goddamn sword.

“What the fuck,” Sasha said. “Tim, you said it was a knife!”

“It _was_ a knife--I didn’t notice the sword before!” Tim said.

“How could you not notice a sword like that?” 

It was a long, thing thing that shined, even in the rain. The figure was stroking a hand over the blade, possibly cleaning it, although it clearly didn’t need it.

“Right,” Jon said after a long moment. “I’m going to talk to them.”

“What? No!” Sasha said. “ _Why_ would you go talk to them?”

“Well, they can’t just stay there. At this point, it seems likely that they’re a threat, and they’re interested in one of my assistants, so—”

“If they’re a threat, that’s exactly why you _shouldn_ ’t go talk to them,” Martin said. “We should call the police!”

“No,” Jon said. “If we did that, we’d have to talk to Elias about all of this, and he already thinks we’re making too much of a fuss about the worms. It’ll be fine. I’ll just ask them what they think they’re doing here. I mean, they followed Tim all the way here with no problem, so I doubt they’ll just attack me.”

“Jon—” the others started to protest, but Jon ignored them. Short of physically restraining him, it wasn’t as if there was much they could do to stop him. He stepped outside, wincing a little as rain spattered on his face, still coming down in a steady drizzle. It would be fine. The person had already put their sword away, and if they seemed to be getting violent, Jon could retreat easily enough back to the Institute.

The person was staring intently at the Institute, their attention focused on the upper windows, so they didn’t notice Jon approaching. As he got closer, Jon was surprised to notice that their hair, which had seemed rather dull from behind the tinted glass, was actually a purple so fine it was almost silver. More than that, their clothes were…odd. They were wearing a leather jacket covered in patches, but beneath that they almost seemed to be dressed for a renaissance fair. 

“Excuse me,” Jon said as he got closer.

The person’s eyes flicked to Jon, and immediately widened in panic. They scrambled away from him across the steps, finally getting to their feet. 

Jon startled as they did, his eyes immediately going to the sword at their hip. But they didn’t move for it, and Jon forced himself to relax. He raised his hands, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to know—”

The person took off down the sidewalk, their footsteps crashing through puddles as they ran.

“Wait!” Jon half-considered chasing after them, but that was clearly a fool’s errand. They were tall, with long legs, and Jon was hardly what could be called athletic. He was more likely to slip and fall on the wet pavement than actually catch them.

“What did you say to them, boss?” Tim said when Jon got back inside. “I know you can be harsh, but you’re not exactly—imposing.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jon snapped. “They just looked at me like I was going to eat them or something, and then they ran off!”

“Well, that’s—good, isn’t it?” Martin said.

“I wish we’d at least gotten some idea of why they were looking for you,” Jon said. “It—never mind. We all have work that we should be getting back to.”

“Not so fast!” Sasha said. “It’s still lunch time, and we’ve all got takeout waiting for us.”

Jon rolled his eyes, but the distraction was nice, actually. For half an hour, the four of them nearly managed to forget about the strangeness of the afternoon. By the time they got back to work, it almost felt like a normal day.

Until Sasha let out a long sigh and said, “Fuck.”

Tim looked over to where she was staring intently at her computer screen. “What is it?”

“Come look at this,” Sasha said. “You too, Martin.”

“What?” Martin said, looking up. “What is it?”

“I went through the CCTV footage from earlier, looking for a clear image of your stalker, to see if they came up in any police databases. But—Just look.”

She played the video, and from the video angle, they could just barely see the set of steps across the street. They were empty. She skipped forward, and they all saw Jon come into the picture. He walked over to the steps, his mouth moved, he jumped back, and then he reached slightly forward, as if to grab for something. It was exactly the scene they’d watched play out an hour before, except that Jon was acting out this scene alone. There was no second person on the video.

“Fuck,” Tim said.

“Maybe it was glitch, or—damn it,” Martin muttered. “We need to show Jon.”

“It’s official, Marto,” Tim said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got yourself a ghost stalker.”

*** 

As soon as Silvesse was certain they weren’t being followed, they ducked into a narrow alleyway to catch their breath. And to berate themself.

They shouldn’t have fled. They should have drawn their sword and run the monster straight through. They should have gone into the Magnus Institute and rescued Martin!

Instead, here they were, cowering in an alleyway like a frightened child.

Silvesse took a deep breath. No, not cowering. Planning. If they were going to rescue Martin, they would need to watch the Institute carefully, take notes on its entrances and exits and the movements of people in and out. Find its weaknesses, and then strike. They would get Martin out. They _would_.

***

Martin allowed himself a moment to wish that this was happening to one of the others, before banishing the thought entirely. He didn’t want any of the others to be stalked by a ghost. It just—Why did it always have to be him? It had only been a month since Prentiss and the worms, and now some other supernatural nonsense was targeting him specifically? It wasn’t fair.

Life isn’t fair. Martin could hear his mother’s voice in the thought. Shockingly, it was just as not-comforting as the thousand times she’d said it when he was growing up.

Tim and Sasha were packing up, getting ready to leave. Martin had already retreated to document storage, trying to reassure himself that he would be safe here. The thought of being alone did _not_ sound very appealing right now, but there was no way around it. The Institute was safe. Martin just had to believe that.

He made it all of ten minutes before returning to his desk. Tim and Sasha had hit the lights on their way out, so it was a lot dimmer than document storage, but from here Martin could see the little crack of light bleeding out from beneath Jon’s door.

Jon usually stayed two or three hours after the rest of them left. Some days, Jon never left at all, although he always tried to hide it from Martin in the morning. As if Martin could fail to notice an entire other person in the Archives, when he spent every waking moment on high-alert for any sign of worms.

Or ghost stalkers, now.

Martin rested his head on his desk with a sigh. Maybe this would be one of Jon’s all-nighters. Did hoping for it make him a bad person? God knows Jon needed as much sleep as he could get, but it wasn’t as if he liked resting, and Martin knew for a fact that Jon was surprisingly functional when sleep-deprived.

It wasn’t comfortable, resting with his head on his desk like this, but it had been an exhausting day. The room was dark, and as long as Jon was still here, it felt safer than any other place Martin could sleep. Soon enough, Martin found himself dozing.

An unknowable amount of time later, Martin jerked awake as a sudden wave of light came over him.

“What—Martin?” Jon’s voice, understandably bewildered.

Martin blinked the heaviness from his eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“What are you doing out here?” Jon asked.

“”Nothing, I just, I—Don’t worry about it,” Martin said. It was a good thing the room was dark because his face was definitely bright red.

“Okay,” Jon still sounded confused. (Of course he sounded confused. There was a perfectly good cot in document storage, and here Martin was sleeping at his _desk_.) “I—As long as you’re here, actually, I wanted to ask—ah—how are you?”

Martin wanted to laugh, but that would have sounded more than a little deranged. “I’ve been better,” he settled for. Understatement of the century. “The worms were bad enough, and now there’s also this ghost stalker situation, so that’s. Exciting.”

“That’s one word for it,” Jon said. “Listen, I don’t think you should stay here,” he said, and for one traitorous moment Martin’s eyes widened in panic. His brain caught up with him quickly and reassured him that no, Jon wouldn’t kick him out of document storage and force him back to his flat while there were two supernatural forces out to get him. It wasn’t quick enough that Jon didn’t notice, though. His eyes widened in his own kind of panic. “No, I—You _can_ still stay here, if-if you want to. I’m not going to force you to leave. I just—I don’t think you should be alone. Not until we figure out more about your—stalker.”

“Okay?” Martin said, still not sure exactly what Jon was suggesting.

“I-I mean,” Jon let out a long breath. “I mean, you can come stay at my flat. If—if you want to. It isn’t the nicest place, and it’ll be a bit of a squeeze to have two people there, but I do have a sofa that isn’t terrible, and you’re welcome to it. If you want.” Jon was blushing by the time he finished speaking, a lovely darkening that started in his neck and traveled up to his cheeks. His eyes darted around, pointedly not looking at Martin.

Martin blinked, both in shock and to repress the tears that sprang to his eyes. Christ, this had been a rough day. “Are you serious, Jon?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Jon said, voice edging into irritation.

And then Martin had to think about it. On the one hand, living with Jon would be an absolute, unmitigated disaster, for a number of reasons. Martin was enough of a mess just seeing Jon at work—what would it do to him to see Jon all the time, every day, _in a domestic setting_? It didn’t bear thinking of.

On the other hand, worms. On the other hand, ghost stalker. On the other hand, absolutely nothing sounded less pleasant than spending the night alone in the Archives.

“If you’re sure,” Martin said. “Then yeah. Staying with you would be great.”

“Good,” Jon said. “There are a few things I need to wrap up, and then we can head out.”

“Cool, I’ll just—pack up,” Martin said, standing up too quickly and managing to knock an entire stack of files off his desk.

“Right,” Jon said eyes traveling to the files that were now on the floor before turning and going back into his office.

Martin let out a long breath, then stopped to pick up the fallen files. For both of their sakes’, he hoped all of this nonsense would be resolved quickly.

***

Silvesse wasn’t expecting to see Martin leaving the Magnus Institute at all, let alone in the company of a monster. They certainly weren’t expecting to see Martin chatting with a monster, _smiling_ as if they were friends.

Maybe Martin was under some kind of spell. Or maybe it was a mask, a disguise that Martin was wearing to keep himself alive. Silvesse wasn’t close enough to hear their voices, so they couldn’t hear if there were any lies in Martin’s tone.

How had he ended up here? Had the monsters behind this place somehow sussed out Martin’s true nature? But that should have been impossible—without his horn, Martin couldn’t have truly manifested any of his abilities, and the lie Silvesse had spun to hide Martin among humans was the sort that only got more convincing as years passed.

It didn’t matter. There would be time for such questions later, when the monster was destroyed and Martin was _safe_.

Every bit of Silvesse itched to move, to do something. So close to the monsters’ place of power, though, Silvesse didn’t dare. Instead, they waited and watched and took note of Martin’s path so they could follow it later. As much as they wanted to keep an eye on Martin, to make sure that the monster didn’t hurt him, the risk of being noticed was too high to directly tail them. Silvesse would have to wait.

They drew out their sword and began sharpening it, more to pass the time than out of necessity. The blade was always sharp and deadly.

They took a deep breath. They could do this.

***

Martin still flinched at the sound of knocking, but at least in this case there was a _real_ concern there was danger behind the door. They had just gotten back to Jon’s flat, and Jon was in the little kitchen, having insisted that no, the host should definitely be the one making the tea. “Jon,” Martin called uncertainly as the knock came again.

“I hear it,” Jon said, emerging from the kitchen, eyes fixed on the door.

“Is there anyone who might want to pop by and see you?”

“It could be Tim or Sasha,” Jon said. “Tim knows where I live, and he could have easily told Sasha. Although I don’t know why they wouldn’t call ahead.”

“Oh, good,” Martin said. His heart was pumping way too loudly. _Calm down_. “So it’s almost definitely the worms or the ghost stalker, then?” Jon didn’t a have a peephole. _Why_ did no one have a peephole?

“We won’t answer it,” Jon said, taking a seat beside Martin, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the door. “No one is home.”

“Right,” Martin said quietly. “Jon, do you have any towels?” He kept his voice even. _Calm_.

“What? Oh—right, um—hold on, I’ll go get some.”

Martin was dangerously close to hyperventilating. He forced himself to breathe. Four seconds in, four seconds out. He dug his fingers into one of the plush cushions on Jon’s sofa, trying not to think about how long a second siege might last. How much food did Jon keep in his apartment? How long would it last two people?

Then the knocking turned to banging, and Martin let out a surprised scream. The banging wasn’t the sound of loud, impatient knocking—it was the sound of someone doing their absolute best to knock the door down.

“Fuck,” Jon said, suddenly next to Martin. Martin hadn’t seen him arrive, but behind him was a bundle of towels dropped carelessly in the hallway. His breathing was fast and light, his voice shaky. “Fire escape,” he said suddenly, grabbing Martin’s wrist, and pulling him along.

They weren’t far enough away from the door when the lock snapped and the door swung heavily open. Martin couldn’t help bracing himself for a tidal wave of worms, but—nothing came.

Instead, through the door stepped a person with long legs and shoulder-length purple hair, holding a sword in front of them, ready to strike. Ghost stalker. Except—they’d just kicked down a door, which was a pretty un-ghost-like thing to do, and they were clearly breathing, their chest heaving with the exertion of—kicking the door down, probably.

For a moment, the three of them just stared at each other.

And then everything moved too quickly.

The stalker dashed forward, throwing Martin out of the way and tackling Jon to the floor. They kneeled on his chest and lifted the sword up, clearly intending to stab him through the chest.

And then Martin was crashing into them, putting every bit of his weight into pushing them to the ground. The sword clattered out of their hand, and they moved to get it, but Martin was bigger than them and it wasn’t difficult to keep them pinned to the floor. Behind him, Martin heard Jon get up and lean against the nearest wall, breathing shakily.

The stalker struggled for a moment, and then looked at Martin, meeting his eyes. “Martin, what the hell?” they said, in a tone that was far too familiar for someone Martin was quite certain he’d never met. They were looking at Martin like he’d just betrayed them, as if they hadn’t just tried to murder Jon.

It was so odd, Martin wasn’t sure how to respond to it. 

“Let me up!” they demanded, struggling a little more. Then something dark came into their eyes. “He’s put some kind of spell on you, hasn’t he?” They twisted their neck, looking towards Jon. “Damn you, what have you done?”

“ _Who **are** you?_” Jon said, his voice much higher than normal with incredulity and near-panic.

The stalker went very still then, and Martin could see them biting their lip. They shut their eyes tightly, and a bead of blood appeared where one of their canines cut past the skin. They let out a long breath. “My name is Silvesse,” they said, eyes still closed. 

Then they opened them and trained them on Martin. There was something wild there now, a hunted kind of desperation. 

“I’m your brother.”


	2. fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin was playing right into the monster’s hand, but that was okay. Silvesse had plenty of tricks of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the positive feedback fro the last chapter! i loved hearing so many people say, 'this is really weird, but you're pulling it off.' this update exists because of you <3

Silvesse wasn’t interested in seeing how the monster reacted to this revelation. Martin was playing right into the monster’s hand, but that was okay. Silvesse had plenty of tricks of their own.

Stepping into Fae was easier when you could actually step, but Silvesse had plenty of practice reaching for the fabric of another world while staying perfectly still. It was like pulling a blanket around them, just a blink, and then the monster was gone, replaced by lush forest.

Martin yelped, looking around, and Silvesse used the distraction to push him off. They stood, dusting off their clothes and giving their brother a reproachful glare. “Next time, I’d appreciate you siding with me over random monsters,” they snapped. Immediately, they felt guilty. If Martin had been brainwashed into following the monster’s will, that wasn’t _his_ fault.

Martin wasn’t paying attention. He was still on the ground, looking around, his eyes continually darting from Silvesse to the forest around them and back again. “Where are we?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, and when he finally met Silvesse’s eyes, there was fear there.

What was he afraid of? Silvesse had rescued him!

“Martin? What’s wrong?” Silvesse asked, taking a step toward him. Martin flinched away, and Silvesse stopped. “Wait—are you afraid of _me_?” They let out a confused laugh, feeling more than a little afraid themself. “Why would you be afraid of me?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Martin said, and then he laughed, a perfect mirror of Silvesse, and they felt their heart twist. “You—you follow me to work, and then you break into Jon’s apartment and try to _kill_ him, and now you’ve—I don’t know, kidnapped me with your creepy magic, and I’m supposed to _not_ be afraid?”

“I—” This was wrong. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “I’m your brother,” Silvesse said, their voice soft.

“I don’t have a brother,” Martin said.

Oh. _Oh_. “You don’t remember,” Silvesse said, their voice faint. They swallowed, nodding. “Right, of course, I should have—Of course you don’t remember.” God, how stupid were they? Of course Martin didn’t remember. Sure, he’d been old enough to retain a few memories of their childhood, but he’d still been very young, and Silvesse’s disguise had made him an infant by human standards. Any memories he had of Fae, or their family, would have faded very fast, chalked up to mere dreams or idle fantasies.

“No,” Martin was saying. “What? No. I haven’t just—forgotten that I have a brother.”

“This is going to be difficult,” Silvesse said. “There’s a lot to explain.” What if they couldn’t convince Martin they were telling the truth? What if Martin never believed them? “I think—Oh!” A transformation would be a good place to start. Seeing Silvesse in their true form might jog something in Martin’s memory. If nothing else, it would show him that Silvesse wasn’t someone he needed to be afraid of.

They reached to their waist to draw their sword, only to find their scabbard empty. They swore, remembering their sword sliding out of their grasp across the monster’s floor.

“Martin, why didn’t you grab my sword?” they said, their voice pitching up in annoyance. Martin just stared at them in response, and yeah, it was absurd to expect him to have picked it up when he didn’t remember anything, but it was just so—frustrating. Why was absolutely nothing going right?

Silvesse buried their face in their hands and let out a long sigh, pacing back and forth. “Fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.” Silvesse could just pop back in and get it. It was only a small, pathetic monster, after all. Silvesse could handle it quickly, get back to Martin, and then explain everything, this time with sword happily in hand. Simple.

Except when they turned around Martin was gone, leaving behind only noises of him crashing through the woods. Fan-fucking-tastic.

***

Martin didn’t like acting rashly. He liked taking his time, looking at a situation from every angle before deciding on the best course of action.

Right now, it was pretty obvious that the best course of action was to get the hell away from his not-ghost-stalker.

He could hear the creature—Silvesse?—calling his name. They were close enough to be uncomfortable, and Martin pushed himself to keep going, to find his way to a trail, or a road, or some people, or—something. He had no idea where he was, but if he could just get somewhere safe, he could call Jon, and they could work out—whatever Martin should do next.

He stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a tree, and that’s when he realized that something else was watching him.

He turned, but couldn’t make out anything in the forest around him. Had it gotten darker? He looked up, trying to make out the color of the sky, by the trees were grown thick and forbidding overhead. He took a careful step backward, and felt a pair of hands close over his shoulders.

Martin screamed and jerked away, swiveling around and just barely managing to keep his feet.

“Careful,” the person in front of him said, a soft grin crinkled over its well-lined face. It was taller than Martin, and wiry, with thick golden hair. Its eyes were a similar shade of gold, and they sparkled as it looked a Martin.

“Excuse me,” Martin said. He’d always been taught to be courteous to the elderly, but as this—thing continued staring at him, tilting its head back and forth, he became increasingly uncertain that it actually was a person.

“Are you lost?” It asked, tilting its head fully to one side, so that its face came parallel to its shoulder.

“I—” Martin took an uncertain step back.

“Poor thing,” the creature said. “Tired and scared, and lost in the woods. How sad.” It was still smiling, but any softness Martin had once imagined was quickly turning to malice.

It was quickly closing the space between them, and Martin once again found himself stumbling back. “Stay away from me,” he said, trying to sound dangerous. His voice was shaking and sounded pathetic to his own ears.

The creature just threw back its head and laughed, a high, bloodcurdling noise that made Martin gasp in fear. Its teeth were rapidly becoming longer, its fingernails growing into long claws. It grew more nightmarish by the second, until Martin could take it no longer, and he turned and ran.

A sharp pain stabbed through his back, as some kind of projectile punched into him. He stumbled and fell, scraping his hands on sharp rocks and fallen twigs. He tried to get up and move, but the wound was burning, a fire that spread all through his veins and locked him in place. He only made it a few steps before he fell again.

He could hear the creature stepping closer to him, still laughing that horrible laugh, and he closed his eyes against it, trembling in pain and fear.

“Martin!”

He opened his eyes, and Silvesse was there, the brown leather of his boots forming a barrier between where Martin lay and where the creature—which now had four legs and a curved, lethally sharp scorpion tail—was approaching. The creature hissed at Silvesse, but they didn’t move.

“The young one wandered into my territory, he is mine,” the creature said, lips curled in a snarl.

Silvesse was holding a knife. “Touch him and I’ll gut you,” they said, their voice low and sharp.

The creature flexed its tail. “I don’t fear you.”

“You should,” Silvesse said.

The creature growled again, and Martin expected it to launch itself at Silvesse. Instead, something unspoken passed between them, and it lowered its tail and backed away. “I will not give you another chance to leave my territory,” it said, before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

Silvesse visibly deflated, then turned and crouched next to Martin. They put their hands on Martin’s back, near the wound, and Martin cried out. “Sorry, sorry,” they said. “This is going to hurt, I’m afraid,” and then they yanked something out of Martin’s shoulder, and his vision went black with the sudden pain.

His shoulder still felt like it was on fire when he came to, but it was a hazy kind of pain. He was vaguely aware of Silvesse pressing their palms to the wound. Gradually, the pain faded, and Martin let out a soft sigh of relief.

After a few moments, Silvesse pulled their hands away. “Can you sit up?” they asked.

“I—I think so,” Martin said, and pushed himself up. “What was that thing?”

“Manticore,” Silvesse said. “They like to eat young unicorns, and you wandered into its territory. It was well within its rights to devour you.”

“Right,” Martin said, feeling numb.

“I should’ve let it,” Silvesse said, their eyes blazing now as they looked at Martin. “What were you thinking? Running off into the forest alone? Anything could have gotten you!” They were angry with him, which was almost as bizarre as the mythical creature he’d just seen.

“I’m sorry, you’re the one that _kidnapped_ me!”

Silvesse seemed to deflate at that. For the first time, Martin noticed that their eyes were red. Had they been crying? “I—”Their voice broke, and they looked down for a moment. “I’m sorry. None of this is—I’m not doing any of this right.”

It was absurd for Martin to feel like he should comfort them. They’d kidnapped him. They were some kind of spooky thing that he almost certainly didn’t want to get involved with. But—they were upset. And comfort was kind of what Martin did, so he went ahead and placed a hand on Silvesse’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s—it’s okay. Everything is okay.”

Silvesse swallowed heavily and nodded several times. “I’m sorry, you—you need an explanation.”

“That would be nice,” Martin said.

“Right, so—” Silvesse took a deep breath. “Twenty-nine years ago, our parents died. Um, there was a war, and they—they didn’t make it. I needed to stay and fight, but you were just a baby, so--” The lie slid easily from Silvesse’s lips, its taste sweet. They’d practiced it over and over, smoothing out its edges like a river-worn stone. “So I found a home for you with a human couple. The Clarkes had been trying for a baby for a few years, but hadn’t had any success. They wanted to believe you were theirs, so it was easy, really, to make the disguise so impenetrable that they’d never suspect anything.”

Martin blinked. “You’re saying—My parents, my mum isn’t--”

Silvesse nodded. “Not to—I mean, they did raise you. You’re probably really close to them, and I’m not saying that’s all a lie or anything.”

No, of course it wasn’t a lie. Mum and him had gotten through everything together, and—Martin thought about her choice to move into a care home. All of that strange coldness she’d always given him—had she known, somehow, that Martin didn’t really belong with her?

No. That was absurd. This was all absurd.

Martin felt like he was going to faint again.

Keep talking. “So I’m not—we’re not—human?” Insane. This was insane. Why was Martin even entertaining this crazy little fantasy?

Because he’d just watched a not-man turn into a lion…thing, and then the horrible wound in his back had been magically healed within seconds.

“No,” Silvesse said. “We’re not.”

And then Silvesse held out the knife to him, and whatever doubt Martin still held floated away like grains of sand on a windswept plain. The knife called to him, not in the creepy way that some of the things in artifact storage called to people they wanted to eat, but in the way of an essence recognizing itself. This knife was part of him, some vital piece that he’d lost years ago. He’d forgotten it, but it hadn’t forgotten him.

He took the knife from Silvesse and turned it in his hands. It was black, with white specks like stars dotting the handle and streaks of purple and blue hidden within the blade, revealed only when it hit the light just so.

“If I’m not human, what am I?” Martin asked, tearing his gaze away from the knife and meeting Silvesse’s eyes. Was there family resemblance there? Was he imagining that?

Silvesse smiled. “You’re a unicorn.” They gestured to the dagger, clutched firmly in Martin’s hand. “That’s your horn.”

***

They needed to get out of the woods, and Martin desperately needed something warm and calming, so Silvesse took his hand and led him to a place they’d desperately missed in the years since they’d been home.

Fae Tourism Board was an earth-themed coffee shop that their parents had taken to them a lot, before. It was operated by a fairy co-op, so even as the neighborhood surrounding the place had been systematically razed to the ground, FTB still looked brand new.

(New neighborhoods had grown up in the area, just as colorful and carefree as the one Silvesse remembered. They pushed away the little twist of pain that curled into their heart looking at streets that no longer curved down familiar paths. There were more important things to worry about now.)

Martin sat down in one of the booths, looking around. His face was guarded, but there was curiosity there, too.

Assured that Martin would be fine left alone for a few minutes, Silvesse went to order their drinks, only to be accosted by a deep gasp from the other side of the counter.

“Silvesse?” The fairy behind the register said, looking at him with wide eyes and a friendly smile.

They tilted their head, trying to place her spiky pink hair. Then their eyes caught on the soft green of her wings, and recognition clicked together in their brain. They’d played together a lot as kids, racing and shouting through the streets, getting into trouble with the other members of their little neighborhood gang. “Ari?”

She let out a little squeal of happiness and threw herself forward over the counter, her wings fluttering above her as her arms settled around their shoulders. “I thought you were dead!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Silvesse said, smiling awkwardly, trying to get their hands below the counter before she saw them.

Unfortunately, Ari had other ideas, and as she pulled away from the hug, she grabbed onto Silvesse’s hand. “No one else from around here came back from the war,” she said. “So I haven’t gotten to see any—oh.” She stopped, looking at their painfully bare hand. She twisted it around, staring at their palm, as if that would change anything. “You don’t—uh—you don’t have the conscription marks.”

“No,” Silvesse said, pulling their hand away.

“I…see,” Ari said. Her eyes flickered over him once more, before something in her eyes went cold. They’d been friends once, but now they were worse than strangers.

Well. Nothing Silvesse wasn’t used to already. “Can I just—order?” they said, not flinching away from her hard gaze.

She shrugged, breaking eye contact first to look down at the order pad. Not a victory, just an acknowledgement that she didn’t see Silvesse as worth playing this game with.

Three minutes later, Silvesse set two mugs down at Martin’s table, slumping into the seat next to him. They took a long swig from their mug. The drink was a deep, shiny purple, and it tasted like nighttime. Once, it had been their dad’s favorite flavor. Once, everything had been okay.

They desperately wanted to lean over, rest their head on Martin’s shoulder, draw comfort from him.

But the contact wouldn’t be welcome. Not right now, while Martin was still processing…everything.

He still hadn’t moved towards his drink, and was instead staring at it with furrowed eyebrows.

“Is something wrong?” Silvesse asked, setting their own mug back on the table.

“What is this?” Martin asked, not taking his eye from the drink.

“Hot chocolate,” Silvesse said. “It—it was your favorite, when—well—before.”

If anything, the furrow between Martin’s eyebrows only got deeper. “Why is it green?”

Silvesse tilted their head. “Um. Because that’s what flavor it is?”

“ _What_ flavor is it?” Martin asked, finally taking his eyes from the drink and looking at Silvesse.

“Um. It’s green?” Silvesse felt like they were having a conversation while half-asleep, missing every important bit of context. Judging from the look on Martin’s face, he felt the same way. “Just drink it,” Silvesse said. “You’ll like it, I promise. It used to be your favorite.”

“Right, okay,” Martin said, finally picking up the mug. “Drinking the weird unicorn potion. What could possibly go wrong?” He took a sip, and for a paralyzing moment, his nose crinkled. But then his face cleared, and he smiled. “That’s—um. Wow.”

Green was a popular flavor—springtime, fresh flowers, the warmth of the sun on a cool morning.

Silvesse smiled as Martin took another sip, the look of pure wonder lighting up his face. It had been twenty-nine years since anything had gone right for Silvesse, but here, finally, was something.

Martin noticed him watching and responded with a smile of his own. It was a little shy, a little confused, maybe even still a little scared. But it was also genuine. And that was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin: This might as well happen. 
> 
> @suttttton on tumblr! come say hi!


End file.
